The Run

by Tyler Wolfe

  The honeymoon phase of our relationship had passed pretty much right after we had been married. Maybe we shouldn’t have passed on having a big wedding or a real honeymoon of more than a weekend, but it was just easier at the time—especially with our tight wallets. We had gone to the courthouse and then had a tiny reception in our own backyard. My mom, my sister and Zoe’s four older brothers were there. Her mother had refused to come down, of course, but Zoe had expected that.

  We had gone to New Orleans for the weekend. The beauty of the French Quarter was just a brief break in the monotony of our lives.

  Everything had been exciting for a while, even with our limited time together. I wished sometimes that Zoe would just quit, but if she did, we would have nothing left over from my paycheck to save for that down payment. Zoe also insisted on contributing financially until we were in a better place. I knew she was right...but I missed her all the time when I was home and she wasn’t.

  The schedule shift was like a wedge that had been driven between us; that and the arguments over having a baby. Zoe had been a server for ten years and didn’t want to give it up. The money was just too good. Plus, who really wants to get up early and sit in an office for 8 hours a day? I couldn’t blame her much there. The monotony, the bullshit office politics, having to pretend to be in a good mood all the time…even I had just about enough of my 9 to 5. But Wednesday night, half of Saturday and half of Sunday once Zoe got up, were really the only days we had to spend time together, and unfortunately it just wasn’t proving to be enough. A tension had been growing between us since for the last year. The extra attention, dates and sex lately had helped; there was nothing in our marriage that couldn’t be salvaged.

  Except of course for what I did...and what I’m about to do. Sweet Jesus, if she ever hears that I have a body count I may become the first of hers.

  Either way it was too late to turn back now. The dominoes were falling: the mugging, the death, the body disposal, the witness—and there was only one way to stop them before the chain reaction led to my imprisonment and the loss of Zoe. I have to end this tonight.

  CHAPTER 14

  Dead Drop

  I glanced at my watch in the middle of my reverie—and sat up, panicked. Crap, it’s 9:30. Did I fall asleep? I couldn’t tell, and it worried me a little. I didn’t like the idea of losing time. It seemed like something that a crazy person would do. Lose time, and then not have any recollection.

  But no, I must have just dozed off. I really hadn’t gotten enough sleep lately. Anyway, at least I wasn’t late.

  “It’s go time,” I muttered as I jumped off the couch and headed to the kitchen. I pulled on the hoodie, cinched its hood close around my face, tucked the pistol into the kangaroo pocket, then grabbed my cell and walked over to the mirror by the door.

  It would do for a stealth outfit. Black sweat suit with my old dark red running shoes. The shoes were so old that they were practically falling apart; I mostly kept them to paint and do other messy chores around the house. I turned in the mirror, checking to see if the gun was detectable. Nope.

  As I looked myself over in the mirror, I paused, my eyes widening. Jesus.

  The man in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. Black-clad, his unshaven face and shabby shoes giving him a low-rent look, and a hard, merciless set to his jaw. All the extra work at the gym had put more muscle on me than I was used to seeing. I stood taller, but there was a furtive set to my head on my shoulders, like a predator on the prowl.

  When I pulled out my black gloves and pulled them on, it got even worse. Now I really looked like someone who was up to no good. If I go out like this, I’m going to look like a burglar casing the neighborhood.

  That worried me in more than one way. One was the realization that I didn’t want to be seen on the street like this. I would have to hike through the backyards once I left my truck behind, and prayed I remembered which ones had dogs.

  The other dawned on me more subtly, but its chill ran more deeply, because I feared there was no solution. Look at me. I look like a murderer.

  When the deed was done, I could wash the clothes and drop them off in a few donor bins across town. I could shower and shave my face. I could get some sleeping pills or even tranquilizers so that the dark circles under my eyes vanished. But would I still look like a murderer, even then?

  I’ll certainly still be one. Even if I’m forced into this, it doesn’t make it right. But, if it was something that other people could see too, I was screwed. Zoe, our friends and family, they would become afraid of me. I was already snapping at her too much. What if I got even nastier? What if I hurt her?

  No. No, no. I shook my head. Not my wife.

  I took a deep breath and looked down at myself. There are two worlds. The world I have to walk through for a while now, and the world that I come back to for good at the end of the night. This is who I have to be to survive in that other world and make sure that that world and this one never meet.

  I didn’t want to be him for good, and I didn’t have to. Once this was done, I was putting this part of me back in its box and burying it deep down inside of me where it belonged.

  The best camouflage possible was to act completely normal. This guy was expecting a blue truck. He would get a blue truck. I drove, taking my hoodie down so I wouldn’t look suspicious. I didn’t want to chance any nosy neighbors getting between me and my goal tonight.

  I just wanted to get to the drop off spot as soon as possible. My plan was still to drop the bag off under the tree, ditch my truck a few blocks off, then find a spot to camp nearby and wait. Once the truck had come and gone, chances were my guy would come sniffing around even if it was a little early.

  I drove slowly, wary of calling any attention to myself. I was about half way down Fernery when I heard a car coming up from far behind me. It sounded like it was speeding a little.

  “Shit,” I muttered under my breath as I kept driving steadily, trying my best to look normal. I pushed my sleeves up nervously as the headlights grew in my rear-views, cold sweat coating my skin, suddenly thinking that the hoodie was a dead giveaway. Nobody wears a hoodie in the late summer heat. What the hell was I thinking?

  The car quickly approached from behind; I could see the headlights starting to shine in front of me. And only then, with my head pounding in sudden terror, did I notice the flashing of red and blue lights.

  Oh God. Oh my God. I’m dead, the sonovabitch already called them—

  As I prepared to pull over, the squad car zoomed past me. I sat there shaking in my seat as it continued towards the end of Fernery, bleeping its siren briefly, then abruptly turning left at the T-intersection and roaring away, siren shrilling to life in full.

  I stared after it, watching the flashers disappear down the street. Fortunately, there was no other traffic. When I stopped shaking enough to steer again, I eased forward, gasping for breath. If there’s a cop car in the area, I might not be able to use the gun at all.

  Damn it. More playing things by ear. I wanted a solid plan—a master plan, but I was left scrambling for ideas at the last minute. I was now at the overgrown lot at the end of the street where I was supposed to leave the money. I checked the dashboard clock. It was 9:40 pm.

  I parked the truck and shut it off. I didn’t want to draw any attention. Grabbing the bag and steadying the pistol with my free hand inside the pocket, I ducked into the lot. I started making my way through the tall, thick grass, not daring to use a flashlight, praying that I didn’t run across any snakes in the hot thick night.

  I was hurrying over to the tree when I spotted the headlights of another car coming down Fernery. I ducked down behind a patch of palmettos, only to hear the car slow down as it got near the empty lot.

  Shit. Is that him already? I thought with a fresh surge of worry. Did he come early to try to stake me out? Or worse, something else?

  Still crouched and moving as slow as possible I slipped the bag off my shoulder and closed my hand around th
e grip of the Beretta. I didn’t know what I was planning, but the feel of it in my hand was horribly reassuring.

  The car continued to do a slow pass as I crouched in my hiding place watching. I dared to take a peek—and then froze in horror as I recognized another cop car. For a moment, all that I could do was to sit there and shake. Was he checking the lot? The truck? I heard the faint blare of a police band radio and held my breath.

  The car’s lights and siren blared to life, nearly scaring the bejesus out of me, and it sped off in the same direction as the first. “Seriously,” I muttered as I let out a long breath. “Of all the nights for this neighborhood to be thick with cops.” I quickly crossed to the spot in the instructions and left the damn bag under the tree.

  I checked my watch again. 9:50 pm. I didn’t have much time. I wasn’t sure where the guy would be coming from, so I looked around the overgrown lot, surveying the best place for cover. No, I can’t hide in here. All he would have to do is shine a flashlight around and he would see me.

  I also remembered that someone might have been watching me this whole time. I needed to give the impression that I was leaving the money and walking away. The street was empty when I emerged from the weeds. I got in my truck, started the engine and drove away in the same direction the police cars had gone.

  The cross street they had gone down was another dingy residential area with small, shabby houses, vacant lots, duplexes, and another smaller apartment complex at the far end. A block away an open liquor store spilled light onto the street through its windows. Both cop cars were parked in front of it, and as I parked in the shadow of a giant oak, I could hear faint shouting coming from inside.

  It’s none of my damn business. I just hope whatever drunk kicking up trouble keeps them distracted long enough for me to do this. I took a deep, ragged breath and headed back the way I came, keeping a low profile as I crept through the shadows on the far side of the street. As I walked, I pulled down my sleeves, put my gloves back on and pulled up my hood.

  I found a desolate bungalow with a For Rent sign out front, just up-street of the vacant lot. There was no fence which meant no dog to worry about. Glad for a bit of luck, I edged my way through their muddy, overgrown yard towards the corner of the house. I stayed low as I made my way, careful to stay within the shadows. I was back to worrying about someone seeing me, calling the cops, and blowing my whole plan to smithereens—the one that seemed to be working thus far.

  As I reached the corner of the house, I saw an old six-foot wooden fence that stood at the back of the property. A tree-dotted patch of greenery lay beyond—and beyond that, the half-collapsed chain-link that ran down to the far end of the lot.

  I found a break in the fence where three planks were missing, and squeezed through the hole, almost whacking my head on the way through. I had gotten a little rusty at sneaking around backyards—but it was coming back to me.

  Of course, back then, I had done it to hide from the gang of boys who enjoyed treating my face like a soccer ball. If they could see me now.

  I settled in, sitting down in the shadow of the fence wall and leaning my back against it. This vantage point was almost ideal. I could see the lot perfectly, and there was no way anyone would be able to spot me.

  I assumed that the fat fuck who was trying to blackmail me lived in one of the houses on Fernery, or maybe in the apartment complex. How else would he have seen me that night? He could have been visiting someone here, but what were the chances? I hadn’t noticed any unfamiliar cars that night.

  I sat and looked toward the lot in silence. I could hear my heart beating it was so quiet. Strange that it was so steady now that I knew those prowling squad cars weren’t here for me.

  Now, I just had to make sure that I didn’t get their attention.

  But if I don’t use the gun, how the hell do I take down a guy that size? And since I’m on the subject of making this as complicated as possible, how am I getting rid of the bastard once he’s…I seethed in frustration with myself. I was supposed to be smart. Why couldn’t I figure this out? Because I’m not a killer.

  None of this comes naturally. I’m not a seasoned assassin. I’m a damned assistant accounts manager with a run of incredibly bad luck!

  For a moment, a terrible, disorienting sense of panic filled me. All I wanted to do right then was grab the bag, flee back to my house and start packing. I would call Zoe to come meet me at the airport. I would figure out what lie to tell her along the way....

  But then No-Neck will make a phone call to the cops, and we’ll be dragged off the plane as murder suspects. Both of us. She’ll be cleared eventually, but the guilt by association will have her locked up before then. My Zoe, in jail. She’ll never forgive me.

  I set my jaw and focused back on the job at hand: watching, waiting and figuring out how I was going to ruin my life or save it in one act.

  Unless he’s got a wheelbarrow handy, I have to deal with his body where it lies. Too bad I couldn’t just throw him to the gators somewhere. His body was probably going to end up too heavy for me to move. And I absolutely drew the line at chopping him up and making a few trips out onto the lake that way.

  Maybe I can fake some kind of accident.

  I looked at my watch again. 10:03 pm. I glanced back at the tree on the overgrown lot. Still nobody. Where are you ya creepy bastard, come take the bait already! I had forgotten to douse myself in mosquito repellent before leaving the house and the mosquitos were starting to eat me alive.

  So was my stomach. It felt like it was going to collapse and spill its acid right into my system. I guess I can’t stomach murder, I thought—and had to stifle a chuckle. Too bad I have to do it anyway. Maybe I can convince Zoe that I have the flu.

  The night air was thick. I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my sides from my armpits. My hoodie stuck to me wetly; the sweatpants clung to my thighs. I hope I can stomach some sports drink when I get home, or I may dry up completely.

  “Alright, where the hell is this guy,” I whispered to myself as I shooed away a bug buzzing around my face. My eyes scanned from the tree to the street and back again, waiting for a heavyset shape to walk into the lot.

  My muscles were so tight that they trembled again. They were starting to ache. My wrists and forehead itched from the mosquitoes I had to constantly slap, and my clothes were sticking to me so much now that my skin felt like it was smothering. The gun was a hard, heavy weight at my midsection.

  It was 10:17 pm now and I was growing impatient. “God this is such bullshit.” I wondered if the whole thing was a wash. Maybe the big coward lost his nerve. Maybe he got drunk and fell asleep.

  Then 10:24 pm. I started contemplating going to grab the money and heading home. Maybe it was a false alarm. Maybe it was a prank! Or a drunken mistake he sobered up from. Maybe I don’t have to do this after all—

  A door slammed nearby. I couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from with the row of houses between me and the street. What felt like a minute later a dark figure walked into view. I froze, watching.

  The figure was coming from the direction of the house where I had noticed someone watching me through the window blinds, right next door to the lot. He was ringside to the whole fight, to the strangling, to my having dragged the body to the bushes, gone back for it, wrapped it and carted it off. For all I knew, this guy had photos or even footage of everything.

  I clenched my jaw so hard that my back teeth hurt. He has to die.

  “This is it,” I mumbled. My hand slipped subconsciously into the front pocket of my hoodie and wrapped around the grip of the gun. But then I let it go again, remembering the damn cops.

  Correction. He has to die, quietly.

  The figure headed into the front part of the empty lot, not carrying any sort of light or anything. I guessed he didn’t want to be seen taking the cash any more than I had wanted to be seen leaving it. He lumbered into the brush, letting out small grunts of discomfort and stumbling now and again. God damn
it, I thought as I watched. Where’s a gator or a snake when I need one?

  The hulking figure disappeared for a minute into the inky darkness surrounding the base of the tree. I blinked hard, unable to catch his outlines any more. It made me nervous. But in the quiet, I could hear faint rustles of foliage, and then the rasp of the gym bag’s zipper.

  A moment later, a greedy little chuckle rose to my ears, making me scowl. Then the figure moved out of the shadow, giving my eyes something to refocus on. The bag hung from the silhouette’s fist as he waddled quickly toward the street. He vanished behind that ragged palmetto hedge and I counted less than ten seconds before I heard that door slam again.

  That’s him. The figure in the window. Right there. Right next door.

  Now it really was go time.

  CHAPTER 15

  Say Goodnight

  I had never expected him to be so...conveniently close. I edged along the strip of grass and weeds to No-Neck’s back fence; a cheap picket that was rickety from top to bottom. I hopped over it with no problem and made my way slowly through the back yard, looking around carefully.

  What a mess. This guy’s life is a disaster top to bottom. And apparently, he had no problem sharing the misery with others, including his neighbors, who were probably suffering from the rodents this weedy junkyard had to be attracting.

  There were all kinds of things scattered about that I had to carefully pick my way around. An old rusted out washing machine sat with some weathered pool hose carelessly wound up on top of it; the ends hanging off the side. A few treadless used tires and rusted metal gears dotted an area where the grass was dead and crunchy. There was an inexplicable gathering of empty file cabinets turned on their sides, and a busted cable leash attached to its rusty post; still stuck in the ground. God help the dog that once lived here. I hoped it had found a better home, far away from this awful place.